


The Waking Dream

by neverminetohold



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Romance, Slash, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arvyn had been sent by his Keeper to spy on the Conclave. He could not have foreseen the explosion that tore it apart, the threat the Elder One posed, or becoming a symbol of hope. The Herald of Andraste. Nor one Cullen Rutherford - or everything in between...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waking Dream

Arvyn ripped a chunk from the sweet bread. Steam rose from the loaf only to dissipate quickly in the cold evening breeze. He passed it along to Lyndis. Their shoulders bumped together, sitting huddled in a circle around the camp fire as they were, shielded from the wind by a canopy of rustling leaves and their aravels. The weeping that came from within the wagons was hard to bear. The human children were frightened to be among strangers and mourned the passing of their parents. The elders staying with them could find no words to comfort them.  
  
Arvyn nudged Soren's ankle to get his attention. A glance was enough and the hunter understood. He began to tell a tall tale about that one doe he had failed to kill, hands moving animatedly to illustrate a chase around trunks, his tripping and stumbling. Andruil making a fool of him. As intended there was laughter once more, and a sense of warmth that came from within, to be a part of the clan, amongst friends and family; their people.  
  
Arvyn chewed and listened, content to observe, lost in his own thoughts. The dreams he could not recall, they worried him, were no less disturbing than the war. A hand settled on his shoulder, light as a bird, meant to not startle.  
  
"Da'len."  
  
"Keeper." Arvyn rose to greet her. "Did you need something?"  
  
"Yes." Deshanna nodded. Her heavy braid shone like copper in the flames' light, hiding gray and worry lines. "Walk with me."  
  
They left the small grove behind, pine needles and snow crunching with each step. Further they walked, up a small rise and past the grazing hallas. Their heads dipped low, obscured but for the graceful spires of their antlers, they searched for herbs among the frosted blades of grass. Like the rest of the clan they were alert and wary of their surroundings, had scented blood and destruction too recently to be at ease.  
  
The clan had moved to the far reaches of the Free Marches, beyond all borders drawn on maps by men, the parts that could only be called wilderness. Yet small groups of rebel mages and apostates had sought to hide here too, and templars, duty-bound, followed in their wake. Scouts had seen their fighting from afar, just as they had witnessed the destruction of Kirkwall's chantry: a blazing trail of light that tore the clouds asunder, like a second sun rising.  
  
"I have a task for you, da'len."  
  
Arvyn exhaled slowly to calm the sudden flutter in his stomach. "The Conclave."  
  
"Yes."  
  
To be called upon came as no surprise, being Deshanna's First. But the thought of leaving his clan... Mages, Templars, the Chantry - all were great unknowns, the objects of lessons, tales told and scrolls read, that he had been taught to avoid as he grew up.  
  
Deshanna's stern bearing softened. She knew him too well, was not fooled by a composed facade. "I do not ask this lightly. Indeed, my heart is heavy to put you so at risk, but it is there that Thedas' future will be decided. We may have no voice in the negotiations, but through you we would be warned of what is to come. - If you are willing."  
  
Arvyn did not need time to think it over. To serve his clan was both honor and duty, a path he had chosen long ago. "I am."  
  
"It is not enough," Deshanna touched his arm, squeezing gently, "but you have my thanks and gratitude."  
  
They let the moment of utter formality end with a crushing hug that said more than words, before Arvyn took a step back and bowed. The moon had risen, illuminating a landscape firmly in the clutch of winter.  
  
"I will need to leave soon."  
  
"Aye, but you will not travel alone. Soren will accompany you to the shores of the Waking Sea. From there all is up to you until you reach Haven."  
  
Arvyn grimaced, fairly certain that one born in the forest did not possess what sailors called 'sea legs.' Also, booking a passage on a ship would be near impossible for various reasons, the war, being of the elvhen, and lacking the money among them. At best, he could work for what he owed, at worst, he would have to stow away on board.  
  
"I will find a way."  
  
"I have no doubt." Deshanna nodded with a wry smile, perhaps prompted by memories of his more outrageous exploits. "Once there, I think the best course of action will be to offer your skills to one of the mercenary groups the Chantry will surely seek to hire, to provide added security at that temple of theirs."  
  
"Lamat could also be there," Arvyn dared to point out.  
  
A renowned hunter, he had left their clan five years ago of his own volition. Coming into his magic unusually late, he had decided to join the Circle of Magi. A choice not many had supported.  
  
"A possibility I would not count on," Deshanna said stiffly. She reached into the folds of her sash, procuring a small jar that she offered him. "You will need this."  
  
Arvyn took it and removed the bone-carved lid. Inside was a paste, thick and more powdery than one would expect, smelling faintly of herbs. "What is that?"  
  
"Your vallaslin, da'len. To pass as one of our brethren born and raised in a Fereldan alienage, you must cover them."  
  
Arvyn barely refrained from tracing the dark blue lines that branched along his brow, beneath his eyes, and down the bridge of his nose. They are a part of him, forgotten until called attention to, just like the burn marks his collar hid.  
  
"Thank you." Arvyn smiled, lopsided and thin. "This sure bodes well for my career as a spy."  
  
"Deceit is a skill learned, like any. And I am glad that it is not our usual way." Deshanna playfully flicked the air close to a halla's nostrils, just in time to save her long sleeve from its curious teeth. "Come. We need to let the others know."  
  
It was not easy, to part ways with all he had ever known. His farewell was heartfelt, edged with the fear of loss. And awkward, for Rayan could not decide whether to settle for a hug, one last kiss, or no touching at all. Perhaps time apart, with Rayan free to pursue Lyndis, was what they needed to mend their once easy friendship.  
  
Arvyn left two days later, a small bundle on his back and Soren at his side, talisman-beads woven artfully in a strand of his long hair.

**Author's Note:**

> More tags/warnings to be added. Please note that the rating may go up.


End file.
